


you wrote "don't forget" on your arm

by orosea



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: (wes isnt even in here really), Angst, F/M, siren au, which also happens to be a 1920s au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12939918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orosea/pseuds/orosea
Summary: She’s terrible at singing for a siren. She doesn’t try often and her beauty is enough to get by, but it’s a strange sense of isolation. She wishes she could call out to her sisters. Instead, she doesn't sing at all.And Soul, well, Soul can sing, something husky and smoky that rolls across the still waters around the dock. It’s jazz, she knows, and it’s beautiful. Sinful even, she sometimes hears the girls with feathers in their hair whisper.





	you wrote "don't forget" on your arm

**Author's Note:**

> this isnt really that great just figured id get it out of my docs, i was originally gonna do a longer one shot about siren soul instead but this is just the word vomit that my brain goes through listening to sad music at 2 am lol

The sirens call to her sometimes. Wails that bounce off the sea that’s as black as midnight and deep as she is cold. And Maka is always cold.

Her scales are iridescent, a deep green shine that glints just long enough to distract sailors while she grips their collars, dragging them down, down, down.

She doesn’t interact with the other sirens. She, apparently, does interact with humans.

The boy— the man, his name is Soul. His brother is Wes. They play instruments sometimes, lilting croons from the restaurant on the dock that glitters with fairy lights. Every night, six sharp, a man welcomes them onto the stage. The Evans Brothers.

She’s terrible at singing for a siren. She doesn’t try often and her beauty is enough to get by, but it’s a strange sense of isolation. She wishes she could call out to her sisters. Instead, she doesn’t sing at all.

And Soul, well, Soul can sing, something husky and smoky that rolls across the still waters around the dock. It’s jazz, she knows, and it’s beautiful. Sinful even, she sometimes hears the girls with feathers in their hair whisper.

The first time they meet, actually meet, he’s angry beyond belief. He doesn’t perform with his brother that night. She watches, hidden under the inky water. She longs to be with him in some way.

It’s isolation. They’re both alone. Not good enough for their families. Wes can fill a room as a solo act, she’s heard, his voice clean and mellow. Soul is grittier, more harsh than most like to hear.

His legs are hanging off of the dock and this isn’t the first time she’s thought about it. How she could just reach out and yank him under, wrap him in her embrace.

He’s crying tonight, which is not really surprising. He does it sometimes, when the weight feels too heavy and his fingers are too clumsy to play the piano. He smells like alcohol then. Usually. She thought it had been illegal but then again, Soul isn’t much like any other human she’s seen.

He almost jumps out of his skin when her head pokes through the surface, ivy eyes wide and full of curiosity.

“It’s nearly 30 degr— jesus how are you swimming at night—in the winter?”

She shakes her head, brown tendrils of hair floating around her in a halo. He pauses, eyes staring at her in wonder. She’s never realized how red they were, like rubies. She rubs a patch of scales on her neck gently, self consciously.

She can take his pain away. She tugs the leg of his suit, and like he’s like all others before him. He slips in. Upon his own will.

When her lips connect with his, cold and warm at the same time, it’s everything she thought it would be. It’s bittersweet because she loves him and she just wants to protect him from all the pain in the world but she can’t. She’s never been any good at that.

She pulls him under and together they sink.

 


End file.
